Christmas Stockings
by Cheryl Dyson
Summary: During a party at Auror HQ, Harry stumbles across Draco Malfoy wearing a questionable holiday outfit. OMG H/D AND MATURE ADULT CONTENT!  IT MUST BE THE HOLIDAYS!  XD


Harry's jaw dropped.

In fact, he thought he might need a spell to scoop it back into place, because it seemed to be frozen where it was, somewhere around his bellybutton, just hanging there.

Time itself seemed to stand still. It was like magic.

Not surprisingly, a dry voice broke the stasis. "Do you plan to stand there all night with your mouth open, Potter?"

Harry closed his jaw with difficulty in order to form words. Unfortunately, the words made little sense, even to him. "You…? You… What?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes and made a huffing sound, as though he was dressed in his usual black Auror robes and not… what he currently wore.

"Yes, Potter, this is Pansy's idea of an amusing holiday joke. Feel free to run along and leave me to suffer my humiliation in solitude, if you don't mind."

Harry could not have moved it he'd tried; and he didn't try very hard at all. His eyes travelled slowly over the incredible sight one more time, knowing that standing rooted to the spot would likely get him murdered very soon—or at minimum quite painfully hexed—and yet he was unable to budge.

Draco Malfoy, fellow Auror, obnoxious prat, self-centred bastard, and… oh god, gorgeous star of many of Harry's secret wank fantasies… was wearing thigh-high red and white striped stockings.

And very little else.

"What?" Harry asked again.

"For fuck's sake, Potter! Can't you leave me in peace?" The snarled tone finally penetrated Harry's paralysis and he straightened abruptly.

"Of course," he said. He spun on his heel and walked out the door, not stopping until he reached the sanctity of his office, where he slammed the door and sprawled in his chair to relive the scene he had just witnessed.

Draco Malfoy wearing tiny red knickers, thigh-high red and white striped stockings, and a Santa hat. Merlin, he had worn high heels, as well. Harry had not even registered those at the time. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Why was it the hottest thing Harry had ever seen? _Why_?

Harry stared blankly at a stack of parchment on his desk. He had several reports to write, but he could see nothing but red and white stockings. He thought about writing Pansy Parkinson a note, but was unsure whether to thank her for providing wank material for the rest of his life or to chastise her for wrecking his concentration for at least the next decade.

When a knock sounded at the door, Harry started guiltily. The portal flung open and Harry quickly shifted the parchment on his desk to hide the fact that he had been doodling stick figures clad in stripey stockings and Santa hats.

The object of his fascination marched toward his desk. Harry was sad to note—_glad to note_, he corrected—that Malfoy was once again dressed in dark trousers, a cashmere shirt, and short Auror robes. Harry wondered if he still wore the stockings underneath.

Malfoy placed both hands flat on Harry's desk and leaned forward in a pose that Harry had seen him use dozens of times on incarcerated suspects. It was meant to be intimidating, but in Harry's current state of mind, he merely found it incredibly arousing. He admired the way Malfoy's white-blond hair fell down over one eye as his nostrils seemed to flare above pursed lips that were model-luscious.

"All right, Potter, what will it take to erase that memory and prevent you bringing it up next time you get smashed at a Ministry function? Such as the New Year's Eve party next week?"

"You could Obliviate me?" Harry suggested dryly.

Malfoy's perfect lips thinned. "Prefer not to carry that memory around, Potter?"

Harry smiled, but said nothing. He thought it might be nice to be Obliviated, because every time he saw Malfoy, he would be damned distracted, and they worked together frequently. For that matter, Malfoy was damned distracting to Harry all on his own, even before the stockings.

Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he suddenly shuffled through the papers on the desk. Harry yelped and grabbed for them, but Malfoy's long fingers snatched up Harry's attempt at artwork with a triumphant flick of his wrist.

Harry sat back and flushed guiltily as Malfoy's eyes narrowed.

"Very funny, Potter. Planning to go sell the memory to the local smut purveyors?"

Harry blinked at him. Pensieve shows were quite popular, and legal, although heavily regulated. "I don't think it was a long enough memory for that," he commented.

Malfoy's fist balled up the paper. He tossed it into the air and incinerated it with a flick of his wand. Despite himself, Harry was impressed. Malfoy had always been good at the more violent spells.

Malfoy sighed heavily when Harry's drawing drizzled to the floor as bits of ash. "Whatever, Potter." He turned and started out, but Harry halted him with a word.

"Why?"

Malfoy threw a glare over his shoulder. "Why what?"

"Why that particular outfit?"

Malfoy grimaced and half-turned to face him. "Pansy loves Christmas. I made the mistake of insulting it."

"But you love Christmas, too."

Malfoy faced him more fully. "How do you know that?"

Harry looked away and cleared his throat. It was true, no one would ever guess from Malfoy's office. It was just as stark and organized as it was all year long with nary a speck of Christmas cheer in sight.

"I've known you for fifteen years," Harry said quietly.

"You have been _acquainted_ with me for fifteen years, Potter. You do not _know me_."

Harry sat forward with a glare of his own. "I beg to differ, Malfoy. I know that you prefer pumpkin juice to tea. I know that blue is your favourite colour, despite all the green you display. I know that you hate tomatoes and you secretly eat Muggle takeaway on Thursday nights. You travel all the way to Italy to purchase your shoes. You prefer Swiss chocolate to British. You hate sushi, but you eat it because you think it makes you look sophisticated. You love cinnamon. You are fascinated with Muggle umbrellas, but you won't use them for obvious reasons."

Malfoy looked not merely surprised, but stunned. Harry continued, warming to his subject. "You give money to charities under a false name so no one will know it is you. You stir your tea anticlockwise, and you take three sugars instead of two when you think no one is watching. You love hats, but you hate the way they muss your hair, so you seldom wear them. You secretly want a kitten. You love presents, both giving and receiving. Your favourite ice cream is vanilla fudge swirl. You talk in your sleep and you sometimes have nightmares about…"

Harry stopped, realizing he had gone too far. He got to his feet and collected the papers on his desk into a neat pile in order to avoid looking at Malfoy. He tossed them into his IN box to deal with tomorrow. Right now, he needed a drink.

"How do you know about the kitten?" Malfoy asked quietly.

Harry glanced at him. "I saw you looking into the pet shop window when we were questioning those teens about the Allen case. You pretended to pay attention, but you were focussed on the grey kitten in the shop." Harry did not mention that he nearly went back and purchased the animal, but he had been uncertain about the reception of such a gift. It was possible Malfoy would have refused it and then Harry would have been stuck with a pet.

"I don't hate sushi," Malfoy said.

Harry laughed and walked closer to the blond, reaching past him in order to grab his scarf from the coat rack beyond Malfoy's shoulder. "Yes, you do."

"Why do you know so much about me, Potter? You do know how stalkerish your little speech sounds?"

"I know. I just…" Harry tugged at the scarf, but it caught on the hook and refused to be freed. "I just want to know more about you. So I pay attention"

Malfoy's fingers brushed his aside and lifted the burgundy knit from the peg. Malfoy flipped the centre of the scarf over Harry's head and then wrapped the ends around his neck. It was a curiously intimate gesture and Harry felt himself blushing again, especially when he caught a whiff of Malfoy's subtle cologne.

"Why?" Malfoy asked.

Harry shrugged, feeling self-conscious with Malfoy's knuckles grazing his chest as he tugged on the ends of the scarf and then smoothed them down. "I don't know," he said. "I sort of… I just… Damn it, I like you, now."

Malfoy blinked at him. "You like me, _now_?"

Harry grimaced. "Come on, we've been working together for six years. I know you aren't half as bad as you pretend to be. You're a good Auror." There. He had said it.

Malfoy's surprise was tangible. "You think I'm a good Auror?"

Harry met the grey eyes fully. "Yes. I do."

To Harry's amazement, a smile—a genuine smile—curved Malfoy's lips, possibly the first time Harry had ever seen such an expression directed at him.

"Thank you, Potter," he said as he turned and walked toward the door. He paused with his fingers on the handle and looked back over his shoulder. "By the way, I'm going to Barnaby's for a drink," he said. Then he winked at Harry and added, "And I'm still wearing the stockings."

With a quick flick of his hand, Malfoy opened the door and went out, leaving Harry staring after him in bemusement.

xxXXxxXXxxXXxx

Harry caught up to him on the sidewalk. It was beginning to snow, although none of it would stick since the ground was too wet, but it was nice to look at.

Malfoy said nothing and Harry listened to the sound of their footsteps, the Muggle cars driving by, and the occasional burst of laughter or speech from random pedestrians.

As Barnaby's neared, Harry blurted, "Can I buy you a drink?"

Malfoy snorted. "That's the best you can do for a pickup line?"

Harry pondered. Had it been a pickup line? He glanced at Malfoy, who still looked icily beautiful in his Auror robes. And now that Harry knew what he looked like under them… "Apparently. So, can I?"

"I suppose," Malfoy replied without looking at him. Then the doors were reached and Malfoy pushed into the warm, dark interior of the pub. They both paused in the vestibule to remove coats, scarves, and outer robes, and then Malfoy walked through the crowd and took a seat at a small corner table, barely large enough for two.

Harry sat down across from him.

"So," Malfoy asked in a tone that suggested forced politeness, "Big plans for tonight?"

Harry shook his head. Even though it was Christmas Eve, the usual Weasley celebrations had been bumped ahead a week so the Weasleys could spend the holidays in France visiting Fleur's family. The trip had been planned for months, and although Harry had been invited, he still felt like an outsider and had finally convinced them he was fine staying alone for one holiday.

"Not really," Harry said, unwilling to admit he planned to go home to his empty flat and eat leftover roast turkey and play solitary Wizard Chess before climbing into his cold bed. "Are you going to Malfoy Manor?"

"Not until tomorrow. Pansy expects me to come round for dinner tonight."

Harry's lips thinned. Pansy Parkinson. She had never stopped lurking around Malfoy, even after they had left school, even after Malfoy had joined the Auror Department, and even after she had got married and divorced—twice. Harry wished she would just… give up and leave Malfoy alone.

A waitress bounced up and took their drink orders. Harry asked for a lager and Malfoy ordered a holiday-themed drink with cinnamon and cranberry. Harry debated asking for the same thing—it sounded delicious.

"You don't like Pansy," Malfoy commented when the waitress departed.

"Not really, no," Harry admitted.

"But you found her little joke today amusing?"

Harry looked at Malfoy and found his grey stare lacking all jollity. "No, not really," Harry admitted. He hadn't found it amusing at all. He had found it erotic beyond all reason and the very idea that Malfoy was still wearing the stockings…

Harry nearly jumped out of his chair when something touched his ankle. He froze and his eyes widened when he realized it was Malfoy's foot—sans shoe and covered in soft fabric… _Oh dear god_, Malfoy was wearing the stockings. And he was touching Harry's ankle with one stocking-covered foot, and pushing it into the leg of his trousers, caressing Harry's calf with his toes.

Harry was immediately, achingly hard.

_What are you doing?_ he wanted to demand, but he was afraid Malfoy might stop. He kept his stare locked with Malfoy's, whose gaze had turned challenging with one brow slightly raised.

The waitress brought their drinks with a smile and cheerful banter. Malfoy replied, thankfully, because Harry didn't think he could manage a coherent sentence with Malfoy's toes playing up and down his calf in a repetitious stroke.

"To Christmas Eve, Potter," Malfoy said and raised his glass of red liquid.

"Christmas Eve," Harry repeated and tapped his glass against Malfoy's before downing half of it.

Malfoy laughed. "Slow down, Potter. I don't want to have to pour you into the Floo and send you home."

"You don't know where I live," Harry replied, but he set down his glass and vowed not to get drunk. Malfoy's foot left his calf and Harry nearly moaned at the loss.

"That is a crying shame," Malfoy said. "Move your chair to your left a bit. And closer to the table."

Harry frowned, but did as Malfoy asked, shifting his chair until he faced Malfoy almost dead-on, with his back to the growing crowd.

"Perfect," Malfoy said with a smirk. An instant later, Harry felt Malfoy's foot again, this time outside his trousers, but working their way up his leg. When Malfoy's foot brushed past his knee and skated over his thigh, Harry suddenly clicked to the altered position.

"Oh god," he said on a breath.

Malfoy's foot moved higher and higher until it pressed against Harry's erection. Malfoy's smile was shark-like. "Tell me, Potter, is it the stockings, or something else?"

Harry could scarcely think through the flickers of lust spiralling through his body from the pressure on his cock. "Something else," he admitted.

Malfoy sipped at the red drink. His foot travelled up to the tip of Harry's cock and then down to the base in a slow, deliberate stroke. Harry gulped his beer, wishing it would cool the heat exploding through his body.

"Blokes in general, blonds in general, or something else?" Malfoy continued. His toes seemed to curl around the head of Harry's cock and Harry shut his eyes. His hand clenched around the handle of his mug like it was a lifeline.

"Something else," Harry repeated.

"Me, specifically?"

Harry opened his eyes and let Malfoy see, finally, a glimmer of the gut-wrenching desire Harry felt on a daily basis just being around him. "You. Specifically."

Malfoy's lips curved in an enigmatic smile and Harry wondered if he would regret being so forward, but it was hard to think with Malfoy's foot on his—just as he thought about it, the warm pressure drew away and Malfoy straightened. "You might want to let go of your drink, Potter."

Harry did so, just as Malfoy reached out and took his wrist. Harry felt the wrench of Disapparition and then he staggered and went down, bumping his head painfully against a hard surface. His annoyance was slightly alleviated by the warm weight of Malfoy landing atop him. After a moment of wriggling, he felt a wet mouth clamp onto his.

Despite the utter incongruity of lying on a hard floor—somewhere—with Draco Malfoy draped over him like a blanket, Harry couldn't find it in him to protest when Malfoy's tongue pushed into his mouth and began to trace every sensitive place inside. And Malfoy's body felt very, _very_ good especially when he shifted again and—oh god, his cock rubbed over Harry's, seemingly by accident at first, and then deliberately.

Harry moaned and clutched at Malfoy, one hand sliding around his shoulders and the other resting on the arse he'd wanted to touch for ages. Malfoy ground their hips together and kissed him until Harry felt an inappropriate orgasm looming.

"Wait, where are we?" he asked, dragging his lips away from Malfoy's devilishly talented mouth.

"Outside your flat," Malfoy said. "I do know where you live, I just can't get in."

Harry twisted his head and looked at his own door, upside down. They were lying in the hallway where any of his neighbours could stumble across them. Lovely.

"We didn't pay for our drinks."

"It's you, Potter. They know you're good for it. Plus we left our cloaks. You can go fetch them later."

"I can fetch them? Where will you be?"

"Hopefully in your bed."

Harry swallowed hard. "We should get on with that, then."

Malfoy nodded and got to his feet before dragging Harry upright. Harry fumbled with his wand and managed to unlock the door and cancel the wards, despite Malfoy pressing up against his back and clapping a hand on his cock.

Once inside, it was a matter of seconds before they were in Harry's bedroom, stripping madly. Harry cursed every button on his Auror uniform before his mind shut down completely at the sight of Malfoy once again clad only in the red and white stockings and red knickers. Malfoy's cock strained against the scarlet material and Harry thought the tip was visible, peeping through the waistband.

"Want me to keep the stockings on, Potter?" Malfoy's voice was a purr as he walked forward and brushed Harry's hands away to take care of the last of the buttons for him.

"God, yes," Harry said. "You look… amazing."

To his surprise, Malfoy ducked his head and peered at him from beneath his lashes in an almost-shy manner. "Thanks. So do you."

Harry scoffed, but it didn't matter because then his trousers fell away and Malfoy's hand was back, this time inside Harry's pants where his long fingers wrapped around Harry's cock.

"Mmm, that's pretty amazing, too, Potter," Malfoy murmured and kissed him.

Somehow Malfoy walked them towards Harry's bed and they both sprawled on it. Malfoy put both hands on Harry's cock and then, wonder of wonders, his _mouth_. Harry made an undignified sound and clenched his hand in Malfoy's hair—bloody hell, but it was soft.

Harry's thought processes completely derailed as Malfoy's head began to bob and he took Harry's cock deeper than Harry thought was possible, practically _swallowing_ it, and he could have sworn the tip of Malfoy's nose bumped into his skin with each down stroke.

"Oh god!" Harry choked. "I think—"

Malfoy's mouth disappeared and a strong grip around the base of Harry's cock prevented his release. Harry nearly shouted at the unexpected torment. His body quivered in protest.

"No you don't, Potter. Not quite yet," Malfoy said. "I want you to fuck me. I've dreamed about you fucking me. I think about you shagging me in the field, and in your office, and in my office, and in the bloody _lift_, for fuck's sake."

Harry stared at him as the need to orgasm slowly eased. "You... You _what_?"

"Honestly, Potter, how daft are you not to have noticed?"

"Me? How could you have not noticed the way I practically _drool_ every time you get near me? Do you know how many times I've had to hurry off to the loo to wank so I don't embarrass myself during Auror meetings?"  
Malfoy stared at him while his fingers absently trailed over Harry's wet cock. "It appears we've both been idiots. I'm tempted to finish sucking you off for that confession."

"I like your idea better," Harry admitted.

Malfoy smiled. He rolled over onto his back and sprawled like a happy cat. "Whenever you're ready."

Harry pushed himself up and climbed between Malfoy's legs. The stockings were soft against Harry's ribs as Malfoy raised his knees and opened wide to give Harry access. His cock was hard and thick beneath the red knickers. Harry palmed it and pressed lightly.

Malfoy made a soft sound and Harry took his hand away only to take the edge of one leg opening. He pulled the fabric up and over Malfoy's cock, glad that it was stretchy enough to accommodate the action.

"Leaving the pants on? That's pretty kinky, Potter."

"You seem the sort to like it kinky," Harry admitted and palmed his bare cock before trailing his fingers over the tip. It felt brilliant, much thicker than Harry had expected, and an unexpected contrast to Malfoy's slenderness.

Before Malfoy could reply, Harry slid backwards, bent down, and took it into his mouth, intent upon giving back a bit of torture. He determinedly sucked it down as deeply as possible, until his nose definitely pushed through Malfoy's blond pubic curls.

"Fuck, Potter!" Malfoy said in a choked tone and Harry felt both hands gripping his hair. He felt a rush of satisfaction as he sucked and licked at Draco's magnificent cock, until Malfoy wrenched at his hair, nearly tearing it out by the roots.

"You might want to stop that," Malfoy warned. "I have no intention of coming until your cock is in my arse."

"Yeah," Harry said as he sat upright, rubbing his sore head. He had nearly forgotten himself in his glee over Malfoy's lovely responses to his cock sucking. Harry had never really enjoyed it before, but then he had never had his ages-long crush in his mouth before, either.

"Where is your lube?" Malfoy asked.

"Right here," Harry said and wordlessly Conjured a handful of viscous gel.

Malfoy laughed. "Oh you are handy. I might have to keep you."

"Might? Good luck getting rid of me, prat."

Malfoy's smile was not at all sardonic and Harry thought this might be the best Christmas Eve of his entire life. "I like the sound of that," Malfoy whispered.

Harry pushed two fingers into Malfoy without warning, earning a yelp and the amazing sight of Malfoy arching his back and clawing at the blankets. "_Fuck_! Potter, you fucking—!"

Harry chuckled. "God, you're beautiful." He twisted his fingers, instinctively sensing that Malfoy loved every moment of it, despite his cursing. Malfoy's hips moved, driving Harry's fingers deeper and confirming his suspicion.

"I hate you," Malfoy whispered.

"You want another, don't you?" Harry countered.

"Fuck you, yes."

Harry added a third finger and drove into him mercilessly, sliding his digits in and out and twisting them to seek for Malfoy's prostate—oh yeah, there it was, judging by Malfoy's contortions and litany of curses.

"Potter, you bastard, _ungh_. Oh fuck, that feels good. Don't stop."

Harry thought he might never get enough of watching Malfoy coming undone beneath him. His pale body was a marvel and his long-fingered hands twitched and curled with his efforts to retain control. His blond hair was mussed and caught on his lashes in places, making Harry itch to brush it away. Malfoy's cock bounced against his abdomen with every motion, leaking from the tip and dripping clear liquid that trickled into Malfoy's navel. Harry tried to memorize every movement, intent upon recording it to review over and over again in his Pensieve—fuck, he would probably wank a thousand times to this.

Harry pulled his fingers away suddenly, needing more. Malfoy made a hiss of protest, but said nothing as Harry lined up his cock with Malfoy's glistening, ready opening. He pushed inside slowly, allowing Malfoy to adjust to his size. He gently stroked Malfoy's cock as he entered him.

"Okay?" Harry asked.

"Yes."

Malfoy's eyes fluttered shut and Harry started to move, nearly blissed-out by the feel of Malfoy's tight heat gripping him. The fabric of the knickers rubbed against Harry's cock each time he pulled back, so Harry wrenched at it, earning a gasp from Malfoy as they tore. They did not rip free, only stretched, and Harry smiled at the knowledge that now Malfoy had no pants and would either leave with none or be forced to borrow a pair of Harry's.

"You're a brute, Potter," Malfoy commented.

"You like it," Harry replied and then set about making sure Malfoy could say nothing other than _yes_, _fuck_, and _faster_.

Despite Harry's best effort, neither of them lasted long. The moment Malfoy's body tightened up around Harry and his cock began to quiver in Harry's grip, Harry felt his own orgasm rush through him with the force of the Hogwart's Express at full throttle.

He watched as Malfoy's release sprayed upward, dotting his chest and abdominal muscles. Harry's hips kept thrusting forward, not stopping until he felt completely emptied and every nerve ending tingled with delight.

Then he collapsed, panting hard, and buried his face in Malfoy's hair.

Malfoy's arms wrapped around his back and held tightly. Neither of them spoke until their breathing resumed a more normal rate and then Harry felt Malfoy's fingers dragging through the damp hair at the back of his neck.

"That was even better than I'd imagined," Malfoy admitted.

Harry chuckled. "I would hate to disappoint." He rolled away, grimacing when his flaccid cock slipped out of Malfoy's warmth. He lay on his side, facing Malfoy, and trailed his fingers through the fluid cooling on Malfoy's chest. "What time do you have to be at Pansy's?" he asked and then lifted his semen-coated fingers to his mouth and licked them.

Malfoy's eyes went flat and dark. "I think I might cancel."

Harry sucked on his fingers and suppressed a grin. Bloody hell, he couldn't possibly be getting hard already. "Won't she be upset?"

"Not when I tell her where I am."

"She won't come and hex my balls off?"

Malfoy grinned. "Hardly. I think she set up the stocking prank as a way to get your attention."

Harry blinked at him in surprise and then smiled. "I think I love her."

Malfoy climbed on top of him. "I have competition? I'll have to see what I can do about that."

As he set out to prove his words, Harry reflected that this was definitely the best Christmas ever and Pansy Parkinson would be getting something exquisite when the shops reopened for business.

~END~

HAPPY 2011 EVERYONE! *waves happily*


End file.
